


Eventide

by h-uxed (disappearingcheshire)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, night and day, now with art!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 06:18:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15018503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disappearingcheshire/pseuds/h-uxed
Summary: The Nocturnal are not to be talked about. They are not to be admired.Stubbornly, Hux ignores the rule. Unlike his peers, who avoid the crossing of Night and Day, he thrives on his route by the border. Most afternoons he can be found there, watching the dark just beyond his reach.Drowsing in the sunlight, torn between the world he was born into and the one that attracts him, it never occurs to him that the dark might be watching back.





	Eventide

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt fill for an anon on tumblr, who wanted Kylux for AU#36, a society where their love is taboo. Normally I'd just post this in the collection, but since it grew into its own fantasy verse, I decided to upload it separately in case I ever added on to it. Hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> As a small aside, the Howlrunner mentioned as Kylo's steed is an actual creature from the sw verse cx [Check it out!](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/0/04/Howlrunner.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20060722162625)
> 
>  
> 
> **edit: Now with[art](http://h-uxed.tumblr.com/post/175287519215/pangolinpirate-day-greeting-night-an) by the fantastic pangolinpirate!!**

He brings the night, vast and dark. It spreads across the land with creeping shadows, devouring the sky with starlit teeth and a cratered jaw. Hidden on the edge of day, Hux watches the chariot race along its path, dragging behind a velvet tide of black. Its rider is one of the Nocturnal, clad in silver armor and dark robes. His skin is pale, making the harsh slant of his brows all the more prominent as he scowls. With a tight fist, he pulls on the reins attached to his steed, calling out a short command that’s lost to the wind. Fascinated, Hux leans closer to the border between them, ignoring the danger to be had should he accidentally cross. He’s never seen a Howlrunner in person before and the urge to see all he can outweighs his caution. The beast covers the distance in great strides, its lupine body blanketed in sleek muscle and glossy fur. Although the man himself is large and strong, the chariot heavily built, it doesn’t seem to notice the extra weight, pulling them both with fluid ease. As the moon begins to climb, casting down pools of light, the skulled helm on its face becomes an eerie flash, bone white in the gloom.

Without warning, the beast opens its muzzle, letting out a shriek that echoes throughout the tundra. Hux jerks back, a chill racing down his spine. His own steed is nervous at his side, snorting uncomfortably. He stands to soothe her, running a palm down her neck. By the time she settles, the air is still, and the rider has disappeared behind the horizon.

—

In the beginning, the Night and Day were one. Chained together, they were two sides of the same coin, setting and rising in a careful dance. Then, the people were united, coexisting without strife. Light and dark, passion and logic, they came together and created balance. It was only after the great Liberator struck his sword through their tethers that Night and Day separated, drawing apart.

Or so the legends claim.

Hux has his own theories on the matter - ones backed heavily by the texts he’s spent years reading, locked away in dusty archives. It’s not a subject his people favor, their beginning, especially as it pertains to those they’ve sworn to avoid.

“ _It’s not natural,_ ” His father had hissed, upon discovering his interest. Standing in Hux’s grotto, where star charts and nocturnal scrolls litter every surface, he had watched his son with thinly veiled disdain. The Nocturnal are not to be talked about. They are not to be admired.

Stubbornly, Hux ignores the rule. He had always been a curious child and that hadn’t changed when he had become an adult. It only got worse when he began his runs, leading his mare across golden fields to herald the day. Unlike his peers, who avoid the crossing, he thrives on his route by the border. Most afternoons he can be found there, watching the dark just beyond his reach.

Drowsing in the sunlight, torn between the world he was born into and the one that attracts him, it never occurs to him that the dark might be watching back.

—

The day is warm and golden, filled with the languid hum of summer. In the winter, the lands grow harsh, battered by cold light, but so near to the Solstice, it flourishes with life. Savoring the breeze, Hux meanders the familiar trails of his territory, slowing his mare into a gentle canter. This far out it’s quiet, no one brave enough to wander so near the cut off without reason. The solitude suits Hux, who has never found kinship among his peers, and who prefers the chance to explore without witness.

A glimpse of brown catches his eye.

Tugging on his leads, he turns the chariot towards it, easing them upon the fringe of daylight. He dismounts, edging closer to where the sun extinguishes, his fingertips tingling with an innate thrill. Perched near the border, a feather flutters in the grass, and even without getting closer, Hux knows it’s come from across the way. He kneels down, running a fingertip along its edge. The plume is long and sturdy, its body broken up by bands of darker pigment. He tucks it into his satchel, placing it among his other finds, and pulls out a leather bound journal to jot down the details.

Caught in anticipation, it isn’t until he’s standing that he registers the prickle on his skin. Someone is observing him. The weight of their attention sits on his shoulders, tensing his muscles and swooping in his stomach. Stilling, Hux stares at his bag, trying to control the pace of his breath. Even without looking, he knows his sudden audience isn’t a wayward herald or lost wanderer. They’re not his father looking to berate him or one of the council seeking a report. His back is to the field, exposed and vulnerable, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t reach for his arrows or try to dart for his steed.

Instead, rallying himself, Hux looks into the nightscape.

Crouched on his haunches just beyond the border, a man is staring back at him. It’s the rider from before, clad his shadowy robes and accompanied by his beast. Beneath Hux’s stunned gaze, he extends a hand to the Howlrunner, stroking pale fingers down her brow. A slow smirk breaks Hux from his trance.

Flushing at his own slack-jawed wonder, the redhead stumbles back, pulling his shoulders straight in an attempt to regain some dignity. The mirth curling at the rider’s mouth tells him its a lost cause but he clears his throat anyway, crossing his arms self-consciously.

Curiosity and disbelief, elation and annoyance, all color the moment. Before he can control it, a gust of laughter escapes him, short and breathless. Goddess above.

Now that the shock has passed, he catalogs the other, from his broad shoulders and solid build to the prominence of his nose and amused gaze. The rider is handsome, with a warrior’s edge that fiercens his countenance. For a quiet moment, they watch each other, each lost in their own observation.

As suddenly as he appeared, the rider nods to him, oddly chivalrous, and rises. Then, as Hux watches, he beckons his hound, turning on his heel, and disappears into the dark.

Hux spends the rest of the afternoon in the same spot, admiring the way the moonlight dances in the sky beyond.

—

He lasts a week before he goes back.

Again and again, Hux finds himself drawn to the borders, pulled there by an invisible force. East, south, north, west: the lines of his territory are ever changing, waxing and waning in a synchronized dance of dark and light.

Although he never sees the rider again, he stumbles upon more than a few discoveries. Bits and pieces of nature, rocks and bones and animal teeth. They’re brilliant specimens, intact and whole, nothing like the broken debris of his past finds. He collects them all, a trail of gifts that follow the route of his rides, waiting for him innocently on the border.

Soon, a touch of civilization begins to creep in. It starts with a simple piece of parchment, smooth and opaline, pressed from bark he’s never seen. He spends hours smoothing his fingertips over it, comparing its grain to illegal field guides. A pen follows, with ink so thick it bleeds across the page, and a silver pendant delicately crafted with the sigils of the moon. The thrill of each offering is inescapable, filling him with a warmth he’s only ever felt in the sun.

Still, he never sees the other. With each new item, the longing to do so only grows; a restless ache that leaves him searching the dark for any sign of life. He wants to talk to the other - wants to hear his voice and ask him about his gifts. About his life in the lunar fields and what wonders it might hold.

Fingering the latest token, Hux stares into the blue-black curtain just beyond his reach. This time, the rider has left him a small icon, an unfamiliar entity carved in glittering rock. Its face is worn as if a thumb has taken to worrying its contours, and as Hux brushes his own over it, he can’t help imagine the rider doing the same.

For a long time he waits in the amber afternoon, hoping that today will be the day they’ll finally meet again. He’s disappointed but not surprised when he remains alone. Biting his lip, the redhead casts one last glance to the night. Before he can talk himself out of it, he removes his journal from his bag - a battered tome of observations and thoughts he’s kept with him for as long as he can remember. It’s not the first of its kind, but it _is_ his latest, and perhaps the most honest.

He tosses it gently over the boundary line, heart thumping as it’s swallowed in shadow. Quickly, before he can talk himself into trying to retrieve it, Hux leaves, chest tight and palms damp. When he returns the next day, the journal is gone and his smile unstoppable.

—

They gather for the Solstice, calling on the solar gods in celebration and merriment. The temple has been decorated for the occasion, draped in shimmering fabric and crystals that catch the light. It’s beautiful, a glowing relic among a field of lavender. Music fills the air and people sweep around in dance, their jewelry chiming softly.

Hux keeps to the outskirts of the crowd, watching his clan with distant amusement. His own arms are cuffed in gold bands, his eyes smeared with the metallic markings that are custom for the occasion. There is revelry all around, food and drink and joy.

It all seems oddly hollow.

The feeling only grows when Hux catches sight of his father, locked in conversation with a group of elders. Lately, their arguments have escalated, leaving a bitter taste in Hux’s mouth with each angry word. Out of control, his father says. In need of someone to take him in hand.

Scowling, Hux tries not to linger on the friendly way Brendol grips the shoulder of one of the council. He’s not been subtle in hinting at a match between Hux and the man’s son, as if a marriage is all Hux needs to learn his place. It makes his stomach turn, disdain rising up to clog his throat.

Suddenly, the clearing is too small, packed with too many people and too many sounds. Struggling to draw a breath, Hux clenches his fists, digging his nails into his palm for an anchor. The restless itch that’s birthed beneath his skin only grows the longer he stands there, overwhelming him in cold chills.

No one notices when he slips away, leaving the flutter of music behind him.

—

He finds solace walking the trails, those worn down paths he’s ridden over more times than he can count. The wilderness calms him, blunting the sharp edge of his panic into dull agitation. He’s waiting for something, searching the golden expanse for an answer to the question he has yet to ask. Following the drum of his pulse, Hux enters the clearing where he first saw his rider, all those cycles ago. His breath is stuck in his lungs, his mouth dry with anticipation.

He’s not surprised to see the familiar figure standing a few yards away. Flushing, body hit with trembling adrenaline, Hux slows to a stop in front of him. Even separated by their lands, they’re close enough to touch should they want to, and once more Hux is overwhelmed by the other’s presence. He’s even larger up close, tall and broad and so very real.

Drinking in the details he hadn’t been able to last time, Hux exhales softly, suddenly calm.

“Hello.”

The man smiles, his dark eyes bearing down on Hux with an intensity that’s almost shocking. When he speaks, his voice is deep and smooth.

“Hello.”

Silence falls between them. It’s familiar, intimate, rife with unspoken understanding. Emboldened by it, Hux takes another step forward, gaze sweeping curiously over his companion, “What’s your name?”

He feels like he’s won something important when the smile deepens, impossibly handsome.

“Kylo.”

“I’m Hux.”

Kylo watches him for a long moment, leaving Hux raw and exposed beneath his gaze. Finally, he inclines his head.

“I know.” He murmurs, and surprise flutters in Hux’s stomach, accompanied by pleasure. His lips part lashes sweeping down in quiet delight.

“Oh.”

He should ask how Kylo knows who he is. Should demand what his reasons are for leaving the gifts or tell him to stop. Even more, he should report him to the elders - return to the safety and sanctity of the feast and let them deal with the breach.

Instead, Hux looks down at the large hand being held out to him. It’s an invitation, bold and daring, and it makes his heart spasm in excitement.

He reaches for it, breath hitching as his fingers slide through the cool barrier into the night. He almost can’t believe he’s done it, that he’s crossed the border so easily and so readily, breaking sacred law for a man he barely knows.

A warm palm catches his own, long fingers curling around him. Kylo’s hand is strong and dry, his expression burning bright, fixed on Hux’s face with a banked fire that sends a tingle up the redhead’s spine. Their fingers interlock, fit together perfectly, and an unnameable emotion spreads through Hux’s chest.

Between their hands, rose-gold light spills out, coloring the places they touch in bruised purples and soft oranges. It pools around them, ebbing away the dark in dusky blues and gentle gray, deep pink and blood reds. Awed, they both watch the transformation, night and day spun into one, made of both yet belonging to none.

With a deep breath Hux looks at Kylo, bathed in twilight, and crosses the threshold.

 


End file.
